“It makes perfect sense, Marcus,” I said.

“It makes terrible, perfect sense.

Because they aren’t just your brother and your wife anymore.” I watched the words land, watched him begin, against his will, to understand.

And I reached into my bag.

Chapter 9 — The Envelope

I pulled out the thick manila envelope, and I handed it, directly, to Judge Arthur Vance.

It felt right that it should go to him first, the man who had spent a lifetime weighing evidence and rendering judgment.

“I hired a private investigator two months ago,” I said, as Arthur opened the clasp with hands that had gone slightly unsteady.